The day started out windy, grey and cold. Without our building’s heat being on (four more days… four more days) and the temperatures nearing the freezing point outside, I awoke shivering and quite frankly in a foul mood.
Briskly walking to the metro I found myself behind a mother and son. Normally it would annoy me at their slow pace and the biting wind that I am trying to quickly get out of, but today was different.
The little boy looked like he was about three. He was dressed in a puffy navy blue coat and black rain boots. Good call for mom on the rain boots because when I noticed him, he was splashing in one of the many sidewalk puddles that the rest of us were trying to avoid.
He splashed. Stopped. Giggled. Splashed some more. Stopped.
And I’m pretty certain this sequence would have continued except that his mom grabbed him by the hand to encourage him to move along.
Bringing him out of the puddle she again let go of his hand. And here is the point that made me smile, laugh actually.
He did a little dance. A small three year old happy “I splashed around in the mud puddle” jig.
And it made me wonder…
At what point in life do we forget the joy of puddle jumping and rain dancing?Â